Disclaimer: Things would have been shockingly different had I owned Prince of Persia
Spoilers: at this point, there should be no spoilers but check the prologue anyway
Author's Notes: yes, I am aware of how late this is. It's been like two months since my last update, right? Sorry. But, hey, several things just suddenly happened all at once and PoP ended up on the back burner.
But I solemnly swear to try to be more consistent and on time. But I am in A.P. Economics right now so…
/Chapter Thirteen: Athens' Inn/"From each she nicely culls with curious toil,
And deck the goddess with the glittering spoil.
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all of Arabia breathes from yonder box
The tortoise and elephant unite
Transformed to combs, the speckled and the white"
-Alexander Pope, "The Rape of the Lock"
When Anthria had gone, Farah and the Prince were quiet for a long while. They both rested on the hammock, it swaying lightly from the constant, continuous rocking of the sea. Farah's eyes were closed as she concentrated on happier memories while the Prince's remained open and aware.
After a long moment, the Prince turned to look at Farah and said in an even voice, "We cannot trust her."
"No?" Farah questioned and opened her eyes, peeking at him from over the arms she curled around her legs. "Why not?"
"She thinks that man that killed her family is alive." At the memory of Anthria's story, the Prince felt his face darkened. But then, he shook his head. Yes, Anthria's story had been sad and tragic, but it was the past. What he had to concern himself with was getting Farah home safe and sound. "She might betray us if she thinks that it will help further her revenge."
Farah didn't want to believe Anthria was capable of such a thing, but neither could she forget how Anthria had been before she had deserted her god Hades. The woman would do anything she saw fit to do, and nothing would stop her.
In the end, Farah knew that if Anthria had to choose between them or her revenge, she and the Prince would lose.
"I know," she answered. "But Capetraion is likely dead, right?"
"I don't know. Anthria seems to have formed the opinion that he's not and what really matters to Anthria is what she thinks…" the Prince replied with a helpless shrug. "We'll have to work with her… but be prepared to fight her if need be. Keep your guard up at all times."
"Don't worry about that," Farah admitted, hitching her shoulder. Her fingers had never strayed far from her bow and arrows. And she knew the Prince always had his weapons within his reach. "But shouldn't you be worrying about… me…?"
"I trust you, Farah," the Prince said with a self-mocking grin.
Her dark cheeks were stained with a blush. She hated when he did that. It was almost as if they were both in on some insiders joke, but she was too slow to keep up with the Prince's quick wit. Which, she assured herself, was certainly not true.
This Prince of Persia was just another man who seemed to think that he had superiority over a woman just because he was a man. Well, Farah would show him.
"I would be nervous of me, if I were you," she warned lightly, touching the top of her silver bow. "After all, Persia and India are enemies, are they not? Perhaps I will do my country a favor and shoot you with an arrow."
"I'm sure you would, if you really had to. You do love India, Farah," the Prince said with that self-loathing smile once more.
Once again, Farah found herself frustrated beyond all belief with this man. It seemed he was always one step ahead of her. She felt like tearing her hair out.
Instead, she walked around the cramped space of the ship, well aware of the Prince's eyes upon her. It made her uncomfortable, and yet at the same time there was this underlying emotion that it felt… right to have him look at her as if he knew every intimate inch of her body.
"My love… please don't leave me…"
"What did you just call me?"
Her fingers clenched in rage. She hated the feelings the swarmed her. The sensation of half-knowing something. Of it being there, but her fingers unable to grasp the gossamer threads to find out what her soul was keeping from her.
The Prince knew what it was, suddenly she had no doubt.
"What exactly is it you want me to remember?" she demanded as she whirled to face him. She wasn't sure if she was even saying anything remotely to the truth, but her gut clenched with the knowledge that the Prince was trying to press a memory into her brain, which refused to even think of remembering it.
"Farah, I—" the Prince stood and walked toward her, one hand reaching out for her arm. Farah jumped back.
"I don't know you," she pointed out, hating the tingling sensation that ran up her arm just from the knowledge that he was about to touch her. She was lying. Something inside her did know him.
But it hurt her too much to try to remember.
His hand dropped. "No… you don't know me, do you?"
"What?" Farah asked, trying to comprehend in the center of her mind just what the young man before her was saying. Something told her that she should know… but at the same time, she knew she shouldn't.
This man before her should be nothing more than an enigma to her. She shouldn't feel like she could place him somewhere, from a past long forgotten.
Stiffly, the Prince turned and walked away, up into the cool ocean breeze. Farah rubbed her temples, dispelling the queasiness and uneasiness in her stomach. Something inside her was tearing at her bowels in a desperate attempt to reach something.
Though she did not know what her body clamored for, she knew she did not like it. She had never felt like this before, inadequate and guilty of something she did not do. The Prince brought the feelings up…
Like she had betrayed him.
That was impossible. Farah had only met him for a few moments on her balcony before he had come to rescue her from Anthria's clutches.
That was all. That was the complete sum of their time together. Right?
But there was a little voice inside her head whispering to her. She felt its slimy tentacles caress her ears as she shivered.
Liar.
Shaking her head, wrapping her hands around her arms, she pushed herself out of the cabin. Her face was immediately pounded by a brisk, chilled salty wind. She blinked as hard flecks hit her eyes.
In the distance, gleaming over the dark clouds and rushing waves, she could see Athens(1).
Once, when an Indian ambassador had come from journeys abroad, he had spoken of Athens. His eyes had been wide and awed, telling Farah and her father about the wonders of this strange, foreign Grecian world.
She felt none of that awe and admiration. All she felt was cold and frightened.
Anthria was manning the wheel, as she always was. The Prince was by her side, making the occasional suggestion that went ignored. Their tiny ship rocked itself ever closer to the blip of a shore.
Farah almost wanted to question both the Prince and Anthria on the silent worry of their experiences in Athens, or what they expected to see and do there. She herself had no real idea of what to expect, save the ranting of an ambassador she had never been particularly fond of.
But Anthria's face stopped her. It was an odd mixture of coolness and rage. Her eyes were stony and dark. It was the face of a woman who killed.
Shivering again, but this time not from the cold, Farah turned to look out at the stormy sea.
--&--
Anthria guided the small ship to an open Athenian dock. The Prince leapt onto the wooden planks with his athletic grace and quickly tied the ship off.
As the young Indian princess went to the side of the ship facing Athens, Anthria moved to help her out.
"I can do it myself," Farah told her, moving quickly at her grasp. Anthria almost blinked. There was something almost hurt in Farah's tone.
Shrugging she watched the dark-skinned girl leap, landing next the Prince as his face remained contorted in a mixture of horror and concern. Then it quickly changed to a look of anger, as he demanded to know what she thought she was doing.
Ignoring them both, Anthria touched down on the Athenian dock, blinking at her feet. How long had it been since her sandals had felt Athenian wood? How long had it been since she had inhaled the air here?
The last time she had been here…
She shook head and motioned Farah and the Prince to be quiet.
"Is it…" Farah gnawed on her lip lightly, glancing around at their surroundings. Athens was oddly gray, there was an eerie light cast upon the muddy, stone city from the clouds above them. "Is it always like this?"
"No," she answered, pressing a hand to her sword's hilt to relax herself. She knew what Farah was feeling. Athens was too quiet for such a hustling city. "The people are in destitute… their patron goddess, Athena(2), no longer harkens to their call." She cast her eyes to the sky, looking on as the thunder clapped.
"I didn't know that Ares and Hades had reached Athens, as well," the Prince added. "If something like that had happened, wouldn't we have heard of it?"
"No. The takeover was so subtle and wicked, that no one saw it coming. Hades had their rulers quietly killed… and then replaced them with one of his servants." She shrugged at the Prince and Farah's horrified look. "What? Surely you're not new to a coup."
"My father's family has ruled India for many years," Farah retorted, throwing her chin out in a small act of defiance.
"Mine as well," the Prince agreed, his green gaze scanning every inch of the immediate area. He looked clearly on edge and Anthria did not hold it against him.
"Consider yourselves lucky." She turned from them both, her sandals hitting the wood as she went. "Follow me. I know where we will stay tonight."
Without a word, the Prince and Farah followed Anthria. She felt their eyes burning on her back and she almost winced.
They didn't trust her.
Well, of course they didn't. And could she really blame them? She had started out as their enemy, she would have willingly handed Farah over to a lustful king, and had every intention of killing the Prince before Hades' betrayal.
There was also the fact that she was sure Capetraion was alive. How could they possibly understand that? The man was responsible for the death her family—her mother, her father, her little son—and through that she had a deep, burning connection with him. If he were dead, she would know it. She would feel it.
And, she knew, if she had to trade in Farah and the Prince to achieve her goal then she would. It wouldn't be anything personal. But her revenge had fueled her for so long, burning and destroying her body as it went. She yearned, as she yearned for nothing else, for his blood to color her hands.
Briefly, she closed her eyes. Pain radiated from her body. She did not dwell often on Capetraion. It drained her mind, body, and soul. The man was like a leech, sucking life and spirit from her.
But she would kill him. And she would show no mercy doing it.
"We're here," she said, stopping as she came to the small, two-story stone inn. There was a small fire cooking inside and a plume of smoke rose from the roof. Absently, Anthria fingered the gold bag she had tied around her waist. There wasn't much left in it…
She pushed open the door, stepping into the slight warmth. It was not surprising to her to see that few were in the dinning area of the inn. Not many people made journeys with the gods quarreling thusly.
A buxom maid hurried over to them, a fluttering small on her young face. "Can I help you, travelers?" she asked lightly. But Anthria took note of how she angled her body. The maid had a knife on her somewhere, and she was prepared to use it if they became hostile.
"We seek rooms for a night or two," Anthria said absently, holding her hands palm-out. It showed the maid that she meant no harm. "We need…" She glanced over at Farah and the Prince, who were staring wide-eyed at their surrounding. "Two. Two rooms."
Looked like she would be bunking with Farah.
"Of course," the maid gave her a small curtsy and scurried from the dinning room.
As Anthria faced her two allies, she supposed she could understand their curiosity. Most places in Athens were elegantly designed and decorated. And the inn was no exception to it.
Tapestries hung from the walls. Anthria recognized them as tales from her childhood. There, Zeus flying into the arms of his future wife Hera in the guise of a wounded cuckoo. And on the other side of the wall, Prometheus withering in pain as an eagle devoured his liver—penalty for giving humans fire. And there was pale, stone-cold Persephone upon her throne of thorns, the once sun-bright goddess married to the Lord of the Dead.
Anthria did not envy her former mistress.
"Your culture is very violent," Farah murmured, staring up at the last tapestry. Pandora looking horrified as the box she had just opened spilled out misery and woe on the world, with only a tiny bit of hope remaining.
"Yes," Anthria agreed. "And there are so many more. Much more. The gods are cruel creatures."
"You rooms are ready," the maid said as she returned from the hallways adjacent to the small dinning area. "First ones on the right and left." Then, as she turned to head back to the fire cooking in the kitchen, she added, "This maybe ain't the best time to be here, alright?"
"We know," Anthria answered and watched as the maid stiffly walked away.
--&--
The sky darkened and the thunder clapped hard above their heads. Anthria sat in the dinning area of the inn, sipping hot ale and staring at the fire cooking in the stone fireplace to her left.
The maid—who was likely only one of two people who currently ran the inn—had retired to her private room when Anthria had told her nothing would be required.
Truth was, Anthria wanted to be alone. For a blissful moment, she wanted to stare into the crackling fire and think of nothing. She wanted to pretend, for a moment only, that she was just a woman visiting Athens.
But thoughts pressed against her skull, and gave her no rest. How could she possibly relax when she was in Athens? The people here branded her a murderer. They feared her after what she had done to their city—leading Hades' army into Athens, destroying everything.
All that blood and fire, cooking flesh… Hades' cackle as he takes in the useless violence.
The people scrambling to get away, running from the dark god and his cold warrior. She slaughters them all as they run by, her body coated in their blood.
"One day you're going to save people like me."
The Prince took a seat beside her. Anthria jolted out of her mind, grateful for it despite the painful surprise. Her temples throbbed in memory.
She cast a sideways glance at the Prince, noting absently that they had never truly been alone together. Farah had always been with the Prince, but the young, dark-haired woman had retired for the night.
Speaking of Farah…
It was odd that this young man seemed so bent on protecting a woman he hardly knew. From what she could gather from Farah—her reactions and emotions—she had never met this man, at least not on a personal level.
Yet, there was an obvious connection. Farah had risked life and limb to protect him. He had fought demon and man to see her face. And the Prince… well he didn't act like Farah. Every time he stared at her, there was a look of recognition on his face. Like a man returning home to his wife after years at war.
Hmm. And his eyes were different from a boy of his age, Anthria mused. There was no innocence in them. Even youths like him who had lived through war and hell retained some innocence in the depths of their irises. But she saw nothing of the sort in the dark eyes of the Prince.
They reminded her, slightly, of the eyes of a god. Ageless, timeless…
Timeless…
Yes. She knew what eyes looked like when they had seen the ages pass. Her eyes reflected the same look.
Her mind was drawn to the image of the odd dagger Farah carried, and still did. When she had touched it, she had felt the traces of Cronos—the god of time—on it. Whatever that dagger was it had some odd power over time, she was sure of it. It was god-blessed. She had been around the gods too long not to recognize the things they had touched.
And Farah's amulet. That had the traces of Cronos as well. And the bow Farah wielded. There was a god's imprint on it as well—though whose she could not tell; it had been shadowed from her.
"What?" the Prince asked, breaking Anthria's pensive thoughts.
Calmly, she looked away. She had not realized she had been staring. "Nothing," she answered. Then she looked back at him. "How do you know Farah?"
A look flashed in the Prince's eyes. Anthria sensed the dangerous subject she was wading into, but she did not care. The last thing she was afraid of —after all she had seen and done—was a boy with a temper.
"It isn't your concern," he curtly replied, looking away.
"She does not know you," Anthria pointed out softly.
"No, she doesn't. For two years I kept her from my mind and then she walks back into it." The Prince cursed and looked at the ceiling. "It was foolish of me to hope… that she would remember."
"You are from Persia?" A nod. "You are its Prince?" Another nod. "Once, I heard from Hades no more than two years ago that someone had stumbled onto an ancient, lost relic of Cronos, the god of time. A Dagger, if I recall correctly. The Dagger of Time, he said. That Dagger could open the Sands of Time, the sands that control our Hourglasses—our lives—and I heard that the boy who had accidentally found the Dagger of Time had unleashed those sands."
"Your gods know much of what goes on outside of Greece."
She shrugged. "Cronos was the father-god(3) of the Olympian gods, and his relics are powerful and dangerous. They are always ready to take them when they show their heads." The Prince said nothing, looking away from her. "That boy returned the Sands to their rightful home, correct? He was from Persia, though the Dagger was in India if I am right. Do you perhaps, know him?"
"Why do you think I would know him?" the Prince countered, his eyes blazing. " Persia is no small country."
"I have seen the ages leak back. I can recognize the same look in someone else."
"I did know him, once," the Prince offered, his voice thick and husky. "But he's changed now."
"As we all must, in time," Anthria answered and watched the Prince leave before turning silently back to her ale.
The Prince just wanted to sleep, rest his weary body in a dreamless, dark sleep. But Anthria had stirred up memories. How could she have possibly suspected? Had he not erased the entire error from history? Or were people who were servants of the gods, and gods themselves, unable to feel the effect of the Sands?
As he fumbled with the latch to his door, he nearly missed seeing Farah. He jerked his head around to stare at her. She had her hands clasped in front of her, leaning against her doorframe.
He recognized instantly the glint of silver in her folded hands. His body nearly recoiled in shock as memories pumped through him.
Taking the Dagger in the Maharaja's treasure vault.
Placing it into the tiny notch of the Hourglass.
Farah's voice shouting at him to plunge the Dagger into his enemies.
The shining dome on top of the Hourglass… awaiting the Dagger.
Finally swinging himself around the treasure room of Azad, all hesitation lost, and plunging the Dagger deep…
Farah approached him, pressing the cool hilt of the blade against his palm. Gently, she said, "You had this two years ago. I—I do not wish to use it, ever. But you seem to know how. Perhaps you should take it?"
He nearly said no. This Dagger had only caused him pain and loss. And yet… it had saved his life more than once during the course of his journey in Azad. And, in the end, it had been the key to correcting his mistake.
Weakly, wearily, his fingers closed over the hilt. Farah gave it to him, a look of relief painted on her face. Yes, of course. She hadn't wanted it anymore than he.
"How did you get the Dagger in the first place? I've always wondered."
"In a way you would not believe," the Prince answered with a self-mocking smirk, thinking back to the tale he had spent all night telling her. She had not believed him then. He doubted she would now.
No matter how much he wished her to.
"I feel," she murmured, her eyes shaded by her dark lashes. "Like I know you from somewhere."
His heart nearly exploded from his chest. He wished desperately to cup her cheeks, bring her closer, to beg her to remember. For so long he had wondered, what if. What if he had trusted her? What if he had listened to her? What if he had gotten there in time?
Farah stepped an inch closer. And then another. She tilted her head to meet his eyes.
They were so close he could feel her body heat radiating off her. His finger itched to hold, to remember what it was to hold her. And Farah looked so willing…
Then her eyes snapped back. He could sense her mind shutting down, drowning out all thoughts of a past that wasn't really a past. She backed away, her hands rising to clasp at her breast. She managed a shaky smile.
"Goodnight," she breathed and darted into her room, slamming the door.
For a long while, the Prince stared after her, willing her to come back. But, of course, she never did. And what else could have possibly happened?
He stepped forward, pressing his fingers lightly against the door. He leaned in for just a moment, imaging Farah sleeping on the other side. He closed his eyes and envisioned her. Lovely and tan and so completely unaware of him…
With a long, deep sigh he backed away and retired to his own room.
What he didn't realize was that on the other side of that door rested Farah, her hand in the same position his hand had been, her forehead cradled against the wood, and her breathing even and deep.
And she wondered, what's happening to me?
Story Notes
(1) Though Athens was a major port city during ancient times the port that most would dock, Piraeus, was a different city entirely. However, because this can get confusing (since Piraeus is Athens' port) I decided just to add the too cities together and call them Athens. That is what has happened in modern time. Athens was one of the largest cities in Ancient Grecian times and was the home of many religious sites. The Temple of Athena, called the 'Parthenon', sat on the highest hill of Athens, the Acropolis. Also in the city were two other major temples. The Temple of Hephaestus (the black-smith god) and the Temple of Olympian Zeus, which the largest temple in Greece during its time. Athens is surrounded by high hills and rivers and most of its side so it was a well fortified city-state. It also had high, protective walls around the city. Anthria and the others bypass them, but they are still there.
(2) No one is really sure whether Athens took their name from Athena or if it was the other way around. However, Athena has always been the patron-god of Athens. The legend goes that she bested Poseidon for the name of the city, which had already been predicted to be a great on. She gave them the olive tree while Poseidon (depending on which version you read) gave them either a salty spring or a horse. Ironically, Athena was also the patron-goddess of Sparta, though Ares is today normally equated with the city.
(3) Cronos is a strange god to figure out. Mythology places him as the father to Zeus and the other main pantheon of gods. He was defeated by Zeus, who took power, and little else is said about him. He was either banished to some far-off paradise or the Greeks merely lost interest in him. Cronos is equated with the Roman god Saturn, who ironically is a mere corn-god. But both Cronos and Saturn have come to be considered gods of time, thus I have the Prince's amulet and Dagger come from him.
reviews
AznPuffyHair: the Dagger will be used, but because of the lack of Sand and the lack of availability of it, it won't be used until the very end. And, obviously, the gods didn't release the Sand Monsters, but they knew what was happening. Not their continent not their problem.
Rexnos: yeah. Really to get people like Anthria you have to have some glorious angst in there. Plus, she was modeled after Kratos from God of War, you know. As for Russell Crowe being a Spaniard in the movie, maybe I was wrong. I was pretty sure that they said him home was in Spain with his wife and kid so I just assumed that if he lived in Spain that he was originally from Spain. Crowe's character might not have been a actual Spaniard but I'm pretty sure that he lived in Spain with his family when the movie started. He was talking about returning there and because he never stated whether or not he was a Roman, I assumed he was Spanish.
crazymaneesh: thanks! It took me a while to get Anthria to were I wanted her to be but I'm pleased with the results. XD Sorry about the really slow update. Always hope for the better!
Black-Phoenix10: I can claim that Farah and the Prince are getting together soon, but they are getting together. If they weren't, I wouldn't be righting this.
Sakura123: Anthria was on the best terms with the gods (understandably) when she died so I doubt it even occurred to her to seek Hades' aid. At that point, she just wanted to be with her family. And, yes, Anthria's life sucks and there is still one little piece of information that she hasn't revealed yet. Farah and the Prince are going to be awkward for a while yet, by the way.
OliveraT: yup, you're right. Farah took one step forward and then two back. But I promise that this was only the beginning of the further romance between Farah and the Prince!
Wingéd Demon VM: well, we're mostly done with Anthria now. She's got one or two more things to tell Farah and the Prince but everything from here on out is more plot than character development, excluding the Prince and Farah of course. :D
LeMaCh: that's me. I'm a shameless history buff and it tends to show in all of my work. Sometimes my knowledge of dead things frightens people… but I'm glad you're enjoying my unhealthy obsession!
ForgottenDespairs: thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying this that much!
tet: I swear upon the Powers that Be that I will finish this. Even if it kills… someone who's not me.
Sayian Knight: …um… I'm sorry…?
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…"You know me," Farah said suddenly, her voice drawn and husky. Her eyes were looking off into the distance, as if she was waging some war inside her.
"Farah—"
"Don't lie to me," she snapped, jerking her head around to meet his eyes. She bared her teeth at him. "Don't. I know when you're lying."
"Yes. We know each other. We meet… in your bedroom. Before the Vizier, remember?" the Prince turned away from her, trying not to allow his memories to flash across his face. Azad never happened.
"No. That's not enough," Farah said and choked on something inside her body. There was a whisper of some promise against her ear but it was lost by the pain of the headache pounding against her eyes. "Not enough to explain why I know you."
The Prince had no answer for her, he couldn't bring himself to tell her something she would scoff out. For she would never believe in him again.
"Your story, the one you told me…" Something was screaming inside her head. Something that sounded like: no, no. I don't want to hear this. I don't want to know. "Tell me it again."…
…"Just what do you think you're doing!?" the Prince snapped, jumping to his feet. Anthria stared at him coolly, and it was likely she was unaware of the closeness between Farah and the Prince.
"Today, we cannot go to the Temple of Athena," Anthria said and she was once again the woman who had stormed Farah's palace, kidnapped the princess, and killed countless others.
It snapped Farah out of her deep thoughts. "What are talking about? Hades and Ares are moving. We must hurry to Sparta!"
"I cannot." Anthria snarled deeply and she was filled with such rage that the Prince and Farah were put on edge. The Prince reached for the only weapon he had on him, the Dagger of Time. "A traitor is here and I will see his just punishment."
"A traitor? You mean that man, the one who killed your—"